#tommy's treehouse

[sillystrawbtism]

Hahahaha holy SHIT i am so mentally unwell chat it's not even funny. I want to be normal. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be HERE. I just want someone I can rely on, I've never had that. What's worse is every source memory I have is based directly on the bodies trauma, right down to exile so I'm still affected by it. I hate this I just want a family and people who care about me because it certainly doesn't feel like it. I want him back but I can't even if I know he still loves me.

-Tommy💿

[eddiegettingshot]

literally typing out my fifth or sixth post about how the breakup makes total sense if you actually pay attention and then deleting it because i cannot keep being a tommywarrior and a timwarrior like this

[lmanburgseulogy]

do you think they had a treehouse in l’manburg :(

[thebloodysword]

Look at this nice ask from Drista!

1, yes I can share *slides over raw meat*

2, wait am I really that squishy-

3, Why not?

Anyways, right back at you Drista!

-💿📀💽

[diazsdimples]

bucktommy + single dads au

🥺🥺 I love dad aus okay here we go

Buck is the father to 3 year old Lacey and Tommy is father to 5 year old Jacob. They meet each other at a LAFD Christmas party after Eddie and Christopher drag Buck along, and Jacob and Lacey both make a beeline for the ball pit. Buck sees Tommy standing at the edge, watching son with a mixture of fondness as the kid launches himself in repeatedly, and decides he wants to know everything about this guy. They strike up conversation.

Turns out Buck and Tommy have a lot in common, with both of them being single fathers trying to provide for their children on firefighters' salaries and no long term childcare plans. Neither Lacey nor Jacob have grandparents that are interested in their lives so they can't be relied on for childcare, and the daycare centres don't cover the night shifts Buck and Tommy need to do. They exchange numbers at the Christmas party and begin to talk a lot.

Buck has a brainwave a few weeks later (egged on by Eddie, who's no longer in need of Carla's services for Christopher) and he calls Tommy one day, suggesting that Carla could take care of Lacey and Jacob together, if Tommy drops Jacob at Buck and Lacey's house before his shifts. Lacey is very excited about having Jacob to stay, as she practically hero-worships the boy after having had a few playdates with him while Buck and Tommy chatted. Tommy is a little overwhelmed with the gesture and readily agrees.

Tommy begins to drop Jacob at Buck's house before his shifts and if Buck's home when he comes to pick him up, he and Tommy will let the kids play for a bit while they have a beer and relax and decompress about their shifts. Sometimes the kids will stay at Tommy's house if Buck has a shift and Tommy doesn't (which Lacey absolutely loves because he has a treehouse in his backyard). One evening after a particularly bad shift, Buck comes to pick up Lacey from Tommy's house and breaks down in tears - they'd lost a child on a call and it hit too close to home. Tommy distracts the kids quickly and then gathers Buck into his arms, holding him while he cries.

Their dynamic shifts after that, and they become much touchier with one another. Buck wants to be with Tommy but doesn't think Tommy likes him that way, until one day Buck explains to Tommy that Jacob had been upset about not being able to read properly, and Buck got Carla to collect some dyslexia resources for the boy and they'd been very helpful. He doesn't even get halfway through telling Tommy before the man is kissing him, fingers under his chin and hand on his hip. Tommy admits to having liked Buck and tentatively, they agree to give being in a relationship a go. Naturally the kids are absolutely delighted.

Send me a ship and an AU!!

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 18: Love is terrifying @starryeyedjanai

Steve Harrington grew up the traditional small town American way. A mother and father that married straight out of high school, his dad ran the family business while his mother stayed at home. The first 8 years of his life he can remember fondly his mother baking him cookies and play dates with Tommy.

His room was always decorated in blues then plaid, toys were action heroes and trucks. Climbing trees and mud and puddles were always encouraged as long as he cleaned up before coming inside. His hair kept short, pants and shirts always blue or red or brown.

He could only play with girly things if it was also with Carol. Dolls were princesses needing rescuing, not tea parties. Carol's lipstick and blush could be smeared on as warpaint for battle in their treehouse.

Sports and trophies won his father's affection. His dad never missed a game, cheering the loudest at every goal. Ruffled hair and good jobs a plenty.

When he was 8 though, Tommy kissed his cheek before riding his bike home. Steve didn't even think about it, his father kissed his mother's cheek goodbye, Carol always kissed their cheeks when they rescued her from the dragon, usually that weird boy, Steve thinks he's in the year above.

His mother grabbed his hand when he came inside, pulling him up to his room. She'd never grabbed him like that.

"Never let Tommy do that again, Steven, and never let your father hear about it."

It was as simple as that, no room for questions, no room to understand why his best friend couldn't kiss his cheek. No explanation as to why his dad couldn't know, no way to understand why he liked it.

His parents went away more often after that, his mother encouraged more trips, and usually followed him. He was told to be a man and look after himself. Tommy never kissed his cheek again.

Now Steve was older, and he knew why his mother gripped his arm so hard, why his dad could never know. Knew that weird boy had been kicked out of home for the same reason, Steve should count himself lucky.

Those butterflies weren't worth losing a roof over his head, or a disease, or the loss of everything he has.

Steve feels older than he is but right now he feels eight years old. Eddie Munson just kissed his cheek before driving home.

The butterflies he thought he'd killed long ago felt in the thousands. But he turned to see his parents car in the driveway, light on downstairs. He was terrified to move, when had they got home. What did they already know?

He'd faced monsters terrified, he could face this.

Steve was grown now and he wanted to tell 8, 15 and 19 year old him that it was worth being terrified if it meant he got to love the weird boy whose heart is as big as a dragon's.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

“Home” for your BuckTommy prompts?

This is quite a cute one I think. Thank you 🩶

***

They sat in Tommys truck staring around the house across the street.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think we found our forever house.”

“I think we did, too, Evan.”

They’d been searching for over a year. In that time they’d gotten engaged and married.

Everybody said that they were being too picky, but they would always disagree. Yes, they had a list of non-negotiables but they also had a list of things they could be flexible about.

It had to have at least 3 bedrooms - that was non negotiable, but the two-car garage with a mechanics pit they could be flexible about if there was enough land that they could build one. It had to have a large yard with enough space for the kids - the 118’s and (hopefully) their own - to play in, and it definitely had to have a large kitchen because they both loved to cook, but it didn’t necessarily need to be on a cul de sac, nor did it absolutely have to have more than 1 floor. It did have to be within an hours drive for each of them to get to work.

They were close to giving up hope until they spotted this house a few days ago.

A 3 storey, 4 bedroom, 2 and half bathroom 1920’s home at the end of a quiet cul de sac. Built by a couple in 1927, and kept in excellent condition by them, and their daughter who owned it after them, who had recently passed away. It was definitely in need of modernising to their standard but it had a large garage at the back of the property with enough space for 2 cars and space to dig out a mechanics pit, 1 full acre of land filled with plenty of trees to build a treehouse in, a huge open plan kitchen diner, and basement big enough to house a gym. And it was almost equal distance to both 118 and harbour station, taking them both roughly 30 minutes to get to work.

Within 24 hours of viewing it they’d put in an offer and hoped and prayed and wished and manifested that it would be accepted.

48 hours later and they still hadn’t heard back from their lawyer. Buck was getting antsy, and the rest of the 118 were getting annoyed about him continually talking about it.

“Did I tell you it had these beautiful oak trees in the yard perfect for us to build a big tree house in?” He said as they drove to a call.

“Yes Buck. And a garage large enough to a mechanic pit.” Hen answered.

“And 3 bedrooms.” Said Eddie.

“And a waterfall shower.” Added Chim.

“Okay I know, I know I keep talking about but.. it’s going to be our forever house. And-and I’m just so excited that we might actually get it. I just.. I can’t wait to grow old with Tommy in it, ya know.” He rubbed the back of his neck a little embarrassed “I have this vision that I keep going back to of walking into the living room and finding Tommy asleep with.. with our little girl fast asleep on his chest.” He looked around the engine at everyone. “Okay you can laugh now know it’s stupid.”

“No, Buck it’s actually kinda sweet.” Chim told him.

“It’s beautiful, Buck.” Bobby added from the front of the engine. “Oh, heads up guys we’re almost there.”

Buck looked out the window and his furrowed his brows.

“What is it, Buck?” Eddie asked.

“I feel like I’ve been here before.. looks familiar.”

“Maybe we’ve had a call here.” Hen suggested.

“Yeah. It’s probably that.” He said, despite the feeling that he had seemed to suggest it was maybe more recent? As the engine turned the corner into the street that contained the fire, Buck suddenly realised where he knew the area from.

The engine came to a stop and he jumped out of down. The fire was blocked from view on the side of the truck they were standing at by an ambulance.

The ambulance drove away revealing the fire and Bucks heart broke.

*

Three hours later Tommy got out of the shower and checked his phone whilst running a towel through his hair. As soon as he saw the text from Eddie he threw on some clothes, grabbed his keys and ran out of the door.

He pulled into the cul de sac and parked behind the 118 engine.

“Tommy, hey.” Eddie walked over. “How many speed limits did you break to get here?”

“You don’t want to know. Where is he?” Eddie pointed his finger towards a car parked opposite the blackened, smoking remains of the house.

Tommy walked over to Buck who was leant against the side of the car, arms folded and a forlorn look on his face.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He said approaching.

“Tommy? What are you— Eddie texted you didn’t he?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He wrapped an arm around Evan’s neck and pulled him into a hug.

“Yeah. No. I.. It was the perfect house, Tommy. We’ve been looking for so long and I was giving up hope, and-and then we saw this place and..” he stopped himself.

“And what?”

“I actually kinda started to think the universe was listening and given us what we wanted. Like, it knew how happy we were and it knew that giving us our forever home would be the last piece. It’s dumb I know.”

“Hey no, baby. It’s not dumb. You were excited for us - that’s nothing to feel bad for.” He squeezed Evan tight and planted a kiss onto his temple before opening the hug, keeping one arm around his shoulder. They both stood watching Eddie hose down the last remaining hotspots of the building.

All that seemed to be left was the basement and half the 1st floor. Everything else was gone.

“I’m starting to think we’ll never find our forever home.” Evan said, sadly.

“I do.” Tommy said confidently.

“How do you know?”

“Because, Mr Evan Kinard-“ Tommy turned to face Evan and took his face gently in his hands “-wherever we live, no matter where it is, no matter if it has everything we want or nothing at all.. so long as we’re together, it’s home. It will always be home.

[bucksboobs]

BuddieTommy in relation to Jee Yun is so funny to be honest. As a gay man with a niece that has been known to spend money I don’t have on her… Three grown, established men, who all have some experience with construction and money to burn screams treehouse the size of some tiny homes with a slide, a zip line, a climbing wall and an attached swingset. They call Michael for architectural advice and Buck binges Treehouse masters, Tommy installs a window unit, Eddie spends an entire weekend painting a mural while Tommy and Buck lovingly heckle him.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Ash & Shadows || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: The night is long and dreary. Does the future hold hope, or is there just pain left?

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Implications of major character death, grief, angst, Tommy being and asshole and then regretting it, set after s6e6 so I had to work around that hot mess. It has some Gothic and ghostly themes

Author’s note: A CALENDAR YEAR I PROCRASTINATED THIS but I HAD to finish it so, enjoy?

The tears have long dried in your cheeks, but their saltiness lingers in your tongue. Your throat feels parched, but you cannot find it in yourself to cross the few steps that separate you from the cup of stale tea in your nightstand, nor any of the dozen abandoned beverages that litter the master bedroom. There’s whiskey with water on the mantelpiece, sitting next to some plain water, and remnants of milk with honey and cinnamon, in which you suspect Frances mixed some drops of laudanum, for you felt strangely calm after drinking it, but not enough to find sleep. The bed is a mess, proof of your restlessness, the sheets and blankets hastily pulled from the corners and wrapped tightly around you like a protective cocoon, in hopes that the comforting swaddle will keep you whole for one more night. But they do little to placate the unforgiving cold spreading through your insides, a chill sprouting from within your very soul.

The ash and soot linger on your hands, caked under your ruined nails and smeared across your raw skin. Your clothes have not been changed in days, and they smell of burnt wood and petrol, mixed with something unspeakable and revolting. The stench is rooted in your nostrils, so pervasive you taste it in your mouth, in your throat, in the depths of your lungs. It spreads through your veins and seeps into your bones, consuming your spirit in waves of black and death. You are overcome by the vile venom, and even the mere evocation of it makes you choke and heave violently. A foulness you will never be able to forget, perennially engraved in the deepest corners of your memory, alongside other grim chapters of your past. But unlike others, this has changed your life, your self, the very course of your existence. You cannot fathom how the world continues to spin and the sun to rise in the horizon after such ground shattering devastation has occurred. 

Your husband is dead, that much you know. He is dead and you are still alive and in your heart, that goes against the laws of nature. You are not meant to exist without the other. You had swore to grow old together, how could he leave you thirty years before his time? How could he leave when your children had not even learned to tie their shoes themselves yet? He had not yet commissioned the treehouse he promised them, how could he abandon them halfway through?

You should have known something was amiss. You knew your husband, better than anyone could. You had a way to read his thoughts and forestall his actions that not even his late aunt could comprehend. Only you could dissipate the fog from his troubled mind and unravel the rigmarole which composed the very foundations of his existence. He had once said, late at night, with his arm around your waist while he believed you fast asleep, that he felt like a man standing alone under a wicked thunderstorm, and you were the only one brave enough to face the tempest and come to him with an umbrella, even at the risk of your own life. But he would forever take the umbrella from your hands. Your life before his, every single time.

How could you not foresee this?

Ever since the failed assassination on Mosley, Tommy had slowly but steadily gone down a steep slope, one not even you could rescue him from. Life had never shown him mercy; every time he reached the pinnacle, a new mountain blocked his way, mightier and deadlier than the last. He had surmounted them all, not without penalty, leaving blood bathed bullets and bodies in his wake. But at last, Tommy had found his Everest. The summit taunted him, unreachable; the death of his aunt clobbered him like an avalanche, and the man he became after that didn’t hold the slightest resemblance to the man you fell in love with. You were sure that if you sat the present day Tommy before the one he used to be in 1919, they would not recognise each other.

He tried to keep you shielded from his meetings with the fascists, the rallies, the gossip and scandal. Only he knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the garden while you sat before the fireplace reading stories with your children. And only he knew about the stacks of bills being passed from hand to hand, sealing deals and pacts that promised to change the course of history. Tommy only wanted you to worry about your charities, your horses and your pretty dresses, and leave the rest of the world upon his steady shoulders.

In his mind, oblivious meant safe. For you, it felt like a lack of trust in your person. And that soon morphed into bitter resentment, never shown openly but perpetually simmering just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. Lying had always come easy to him, but it became harder when his lies were unmasked in the morning paper. How could he pledge innocence when his face showed up on the front page next to the leader of the British Union of Fascists? How could he deny his guilt, with Diana Mitford right at his tail?

How could he pretend leaving you in the dark was for the greater good?

Everything came to a breaking point when he suddenly summoned you to his study to inform you he would be departing for Canada the following day, with no clear return date and refusing to elaborate on what called him so suddenly to cross the Atlantic. The more you pressed for answers, the more he manoeuvred around them with carefully premeditated replies of vague content, half finished sentences and loose words, so unlike him that the lies unravelled on their own before your eyes. His total carelessness over the situation and the dismissal of your worries became the drop that tipped the glass. Months of carefully concealed rancour came bursting to the surface like an erupting volcano. 

You called him every name in the book, reminding him of the things you had endured for his sake over the long course of your relationship, while he could not even allow you the decency of forewarning you of such a trip or offer an acceptable explanation for such haste in departure, the acrimony in your heart even making you ask if he had special company for the journey. His impassive silence only irked you further, and you told him he could get a one way ticket to hell for all you cared, before slamming the door to his office so violently you heard a painting fall and shatter on the ground. 

The day after, you rounded the kids in the foyer for the mandatory goodbyes. He hugged them all long and tight, a rarity in itself for a man who had become so cold and withdrawn he barely spared them a glance in the mornings over his newspaper. And then he kneeled before Charlie and placed a brand new gold pocket watch in the boy’s little hands. Your husband said men wore pocket watches and he would be the man of the house now. The boy only stared back, perplexed, and nodded once silently before pocketing the precious object with utmost care.

You remained irate, arms crossed over your chest, fingers drumming on your arm impatiently. It was hard to tell you apart from an enraged bull staring at a red cloth. A part of you felt like a petulant child, but after so many years of marriage and everything you had silently withstood for him, you could no longer hide the hurt and disappointment, feelings far too familiar that you had grown accustomed to conceal. You only allowed him a brief goodbye, turning your face away when he tried to kiss your lips, presenting your cheek instead. He didn’t protest, his lips lingering on your skin longer than they had done in years, his gloved hand cradling the back of your neck and playing with your hair. His free arm circled your waist and pulled you close, face moving to rest in the crook of your neck as he inhaled deeply, as if committing the scent of your body to memory.

A strange sense of foreboding filled you, but you forced it out of your mind. 

If you had known what the future held ahead, you would have jumped into his arms, engraving in your memory every detail of himself; the feeling of his hands on your waist, the timbre of his voice. Traced every nook and cranny of his face with your fingertips, over and over until you could forever recall it. You would have kissed those lips until they bled, and with the same ferocity, you would have screamed and clawed and made the windows rattle and the ground shake, demanding an explanation. Demanding to know why.

The days passed, and the worry began to gnaw at your chest. The hotel address he gave you didn’t exist, nor did the phone number which he scribbled down hastily seconds before crossing the threshold, only after you demanded to have a way to contact him should an emergency arise with the kids. The kids. Not you. Over his shoulder, as if an afterthought, he said he would call. After the first week of silence you had a landline installed outside your bedroom, and you would stare incessantly at the apparatus, willing it to ring. One time you heard the faint ringing in the study from the entrance door, and you rushed to it with such haste you vaulted over a sofa and snapped your high heel off. But it only turned out to be Ada, checking in on you. Ever since that day, everyone seemed to grow suspiciously closer to you. Calls and visits and days out. Ada inviting you to London and looking after the kids to give you a day off. Curly and Charlie coming often to help the kids tame their new ponies. Arthur would come too, far too often to be normal, and he would sit across from you in the living room, nursing a whiskey in his hand and poorly attempting small talk, always looking ready to be sick and evading your gaze.

Their pitiful stares didn’t go unnoticed, nor did some carefully chosen words, such as how your kids would always be looked after and provided for in the family, how they would always be there for you and would support whatever you chose to do with your life. Praising your strength, offering their support, always looking away or changing the subject when you asked if your husband had called them. The thinly veiled edge of desperation in your voice seemed to stir something within them, and redoubled their efforts in consoling you for something you didn’t yet know.

The truth laid bare before your very eyes, just an inch out of reach, concealed just enough to keep you in the dark with confusing glimpses of the life ahead.

But the passive games and the uncertainty came to an abrupt halt one bright sunny morning, the skies blue and clear like Tommy’s eyes and a gentle breeze fanning over the gardens. You told the nannies to prepare the kids for a picnic in the meadow, and helped Frances set up a plentiful food basket. But just before you could set foot out, a car stopped in the driveway. The frantic knocking on the door and the slurred screaming had you fearfully peeking out through the draperies, your finger readied on the trigger of a gun, only to see Arthur slumped against one of the columns of the entrance, calling out your name. Before he could say another word, you knew he had relapsed back into the opium, acquired from who knows where. Even from afar, he reeked of alcohol and smoke, face bloated and eyes bloodshot and swollen. He staggered forward, nearly toppling over you before falling to his knees, his face distorted in anguish. You tried to pull him up, to coax some sort of explanation out of him, anything to placate the worry crawling up your chest.

A million possible scenarios played in your head, yet not even ten lives could have prepared you for the simple words that escaped his mouth.

“Tommy is dead”

From that point on, memories become elusive. Only fleeting moments remain. You recall your own hands, hands meant to nurture, caress and comfort; hands that wiped tears, stroked hairs and tickled bellies, your kind and gentle hands gripping Arthur’s coat lapels and pulling on him with such force he came back to his feet, startled. You remember shaking him violently, teeth gritted and vision blurred with hot tears, your mascara running down your cheeks. Your lips parted to scream, but you cannot recall what words came out of your mouth. Arthur tried to pry your hands open and take some distance, but then you slapped him across the face. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was a punch. Or maybe a detail that never happened, later added by your wrecked mind. Because you hoped that if you screamed and punched and tore the world to pieces you would awaken from that nightmare.

You saw the smoke long before the car reached the side road. The perfume of the blooming flowers could not mask the wafting aroma of charred wood, petrol and burnt fabrics, with something else you could not quite pinpoint, but smelled vile and pernicious. A cheerful meadow stretched out before you, bright green dotted with white and yellow spreading as far as the eye reached across gentle hills. And amidst all, a scorched patch of land, and a pile of still smouldering debris, wisps of acrid poison swirling in the docile spring breeze. 

You leapt towards the vardo’s remains, but Arthur restrained you, slender but firm arms circled tight around your waist as he attempted to comfort you; as if there could be any comfort for you in that moment and place. You fought him with tooth and nail, scratching and biting and kicking like a frenzied beast, cursing his name, his bloodline and his entire existence. All he did back was shush you, a hand pressed to your abdomen, his arm around your chest as your knees gave and you collapsed into him, agonising wails wracking your to your core.

You cried out for Tommy, but only death called back.

In time, the smoke cleared and the pyre cooled, allowing you a clear view of the massacre before your very eyes. Like the leftovers of a bonfire, wood so thoroughly charred it disintegrated on the hand, mixed with scalding pieces of metal and leftover rags that once were curtains and bedding. You fell to your knees, frantic fingers digging at the ash and earth bare handed, soot and dust clinging to your sweat doused skin, getting in your eyes, your nose, your mouth. Your fingers ached and your skin reddened and blistered in the heat, but you felt nothing, nothing but the overcoming grief coiling around your heart, constricting your throat and freezing the blood in your veins. Your tears sizzled as they fell on the ground. You dug and dug, panicked sobs reverberating in the emptiness of the meadow, your pain a sharp contrast with the chirping of the blackbirds on the branches. 

You could find but only a few scarce belongings that survived the conflagration. A couple of gold sleeve garters. His pocket watch, the mechanism somehow still working. The frames of his reading glasses, the crystals having been lost to the heat. No matter how deep you dug, his wedding ring was nowhere to be found. And everything else had turned to ash and dust.

Ashes of the vardo. 

Ashes of your memories together.

Ashes of the man.

The love of your life swept away by the wind.

~

You no longer know if it’s day or night. The heavy drapes are closed, and only a few dying embers remain in the hearth. The room is cold, more than usual, robbed from the warmth of fire and the warmth of love. Time passess differently when grief has its clutches around you. Every second is too slow, yet every day moves by too fast. Three days have swept by, maybe four, plus the month of faked departure in which he roamed the fields while you believed him across the pond. His scent is fading from the pillows, from his clothes, from your memory. You sprayed some of his cologne on your wrists but it's not the same because it is not on his skin. It is not mixed with leather, ink and gunpowder. It is not him.

You already fear you are forgetting the right colour of Tommy’s eyes, the various hues mixing in your mind but none seems quite right. Are they the colour of the sky on a bright summer day? The tranquil sea surrounding the ship that took you to your honeymoon on the continent? Do they match the aquamarines from the demi parure he gifted you on your birthday, just because he said their colour suited your skin?

No. No do. Did. Because his eyes are no more. His bright eyes, his rare smiles, his handsome face, his protective hands and everything in between are no more. They are just ash and dust, a pile abandoned in the middle of an open field being swept by the wind and rain.

Floorboards creak on the hallway, but it could be the scurrying maids as much as the wandering spirits that populate your home, souls rooted in the land due to unfinished businesses from their past lives, acting as owner and keepers of a place where you are but a temporary guest. A door slams shut somewhere in the house, and the windows creak and rattle under the assault of the brewing tempest. The room grows icier, if possible, your breath rising in puffs of white. Your fingers feel stiff, achingly clutching onto an old pocket watch. Even the rings in your hands have turned to ice.

You curl tighter into yourself, if possible, your palms pressed to your face to warm your freezing nose and lips. Sleep threatens to take you, but you fight it with all your might, for the only place worse than life right now, is inside your head. The nightmares have chased you ever since that day, each one more horrifying than the last. But the body beats the mind, and your eyelids, heavy as lead, fall shut, your consciousness slipping away in waves.

You cannot be sure how long you slept, or if you did at all, when something startles you into attention. You sit up abruptly, heart beating frenziedly in your chest. The room is pitch dark, and for a moment you are disoriented, unsure of where you are. It takes long seconds for you to notice there’s a body next to yours, and a heavy, warm hand is pressed against your back to support you.

When you turn your head, the scream falls from your lips involuntarily, and you are positive your heart stops briefly. He looks so well, so perfectly well and common, so alive. Your hands are on his face, on his neck, running down his chest and arms as your mind struggles to come to terms with the image in front of your eyes.

“Tommy?”

Shrouded in black, his hair damp and  tousled, and perfectly unharmed. As if he were just returning from a session in Parliament. His hand slides up your body, from your back to your shoulder, then your neck and up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your tear streaked cheek. You lean instinctively against his touch; the warmth from his palm spreads through your skin like a soothing balm. It feels safe; it feels like home, like the place where you belong. 

His free arms circles your waist and pulls you into him, your head tucked between his chin and shoulder and your body pulled onto his lap. Both of your arms wrap tightly around his middle, fearing that if you let go, he would disappear like smoke, forever this time.

“Tommy? Tommy, what happened? Where have you been?” Tears brim again in your eyes, and the coil tightens around your throat “I…I don’t understand. Arthur said that you were…that you were” The word, that word, cannot make it past the knot. The word you so dreaded to accept. “I saw the ashes in the meadow”

He says nothing, nothing besides a hum of acknowledgement at your words. His thumb brushes back and forth against your cheekbone, the other hand tracing lines up and down the length of your spine, causing your belly to flutter. You are confused, terribly so, your thoughts reeling with the need for answers. But Tommy, as usual, offers none, and you don’t really want to spoil the moment, not when your heart is finally at peace after the terrible weeks you’ve endured.

The embrace goes on forever, none of you making effort to move or speak. Every now and then you feel his lips brush against your forehead, or his nose bury in your hair and inhale deeply, drowning himself in your scent. The storm howls outside, windows rattling with the strength of the wind, the glasses mercilessly pelted by ferocious raindrops. By now, the children would usually be awake and crowding your bed, seeking safety under your blankets. But peacefulness reigns their slumber that night, and you are grateful for it. You desperately need this moment alone with your husband.

His head tilts suddenly, just enough to place a gentle kiss against your temple, then his lips brush against the shell of your ear

“I am sorry” His voice is raspy and worn, as if it has not been used in quite some time “For everything. For keeping you in the dark, for not trusting your strength. For everything I put you through” His embrace around you tightens into an almost painful grip, as if he wishes to fuse his body into yours “You are fierce. And strong. The strongest woman I know. You can overcome anything, nothing could tear you down”

For some reason, those words do not sit right with you. They feel ominous, almost like a forever goodbye. You try to crane your neck to get a better look at his face, to read his expression, but he resists, hidden in the curve of your neck. Your heartbeat quickens in panic.

“I am only strong when I have you by my side. I need you, Tommy. These past days have ruined me. I cannot tread upon an earth you do not exist in.” Your fingers dig on the fabric of his coat, and for the first time you notice his clothes are dampened and smell faintly of wet soil and smoke.

Tommy chuckles, the familiar sound reverberating inside your ribs. He shifts again and his lips are against your forehead, continuing to refuse you a clear glimpse of his face.

“You were strong when I met you. You were strong when I tried to push you away for your own safety. And I know you will continue to be. For the family, for our children. They need you. You are their whole world”

Again those words, those threats of a future in which he had no place. The tears come back with renewed strength, blurring your vision and choking the words in your mouth, but you manage to force them. You cannot leave anything unsaid, not if he’s planning to abandon you once more.

“They need their father too” You protest “Please, Tommy. You can’t walk away again. Not when you are back in my arms” Your grip tightened to accentuate your words “I lost you once, I cannot do this again. Please don’t make me do this again Tommy. If you leave, you might as well kill me now, and spare me such misery”

“I can’t stay” The words cut like blades through your heart and lungs, and for a moment, you can’t remember how to breathe “I’ve got to go, but I promise you, I will always be with you. I’ll never leave your side, whether you can see me or not. I will always be your husband, in this life and the next” You cannot be sure, but he seems to be holding back sobs as well “So many things went wrong. So many mistakes that cannot be fixed. What’s done cannot be undone” Those words do not seem directed to you, but rather thoughts spoken out loud, an airing of frustrations he’s kept bottled up.

You pull away from him, so fiercely not even his strength can keep you still. Your hands cup his cheeks and pull him down until his forehead is against yours. You can barely discern his features in the darkness of the bedroom, so you use your fingers to gently trace the slope of his nose, the sharpness of the jaw, the softness of his lips. His breath fans over your face; he smells all over of nature, of dirt, of open fields and pine woods. 

“There is nothing that cannot be undone. Do you hear me? Nothing. Nothing that we can’t work out together” You can barely contain your desperation “You are Thomas Shelby. You can pull down the moon if you desire; you could bend the King to your will. How can you not fix whatever troubles you?”

His hands envelop yours, fingers gently prying yours away; but instead of dropping them, he cradles them gently, bringing them up to his lips to press tender kisses against your knuckles. His lips linger against your wedding ring until the metal warms.

“Not everything is fixable, my love. There are things not even I can undo. Some mistakes are permanent. I tried, tried my whole life, but I am not God, not yet” He pulls you into his chest again, and pulls the blankets around you “But you don’t need to worry about that now. The hour is late and the sun will soon be up. You need to rest, my sweet dove. Sleep and dream; I will be with you”

You wanted to protest, to pull away, to not let him finish things like that. But you suddenly felt terribly exhausted, as if the last days had dropped on top of you with the weight of boulders, and his arms were so comforting. He gently rocked you both back and forth, a hand on the back of your head and the other on your back. The last thing you remember is Tommy murmuring sweet words of love in your ear. You cannot remember them exactly, but you fell asleep with a smile on your lips.

The next morning you awake tucked in bed, buried between pillows and blankets and wearing a clean nightgown. You sigh contently and stretch your arm to the side, towards Tommy’s side, but find it to be cold and empty, feeling something powdery between your fingers.

Your eyes shoot open, sitting so abruptly you see spots dancing in your vision. The room is bathed in sunlight, all the curtains drawn back. Outside there’s a perfect spring morning, and you hear the dogs barking and the gardeners going about their duties. Once your eyes adjust to the brightness, you discover that the powdery thing on the mattress appears to be ash, or dirt, you are not quite sure. The sheets are stained with it, and when you stand from the bed, you find a trail of residue all the way to the door. Upon inspection, you notice some of it has been left on the door handle, as if someone grabbed it with dirty hands.

The door nearly slams on your face as Frances pushes it open, carrying a breakfast tray. You both jump with a startle, but she manages to keep her wits enough to not drop the tray at your feet

“That was quite a scare you gave me there, Mrs. Shelby. But it’s wonderful to see you at last out of bed” Frances says, as she leaves the tray on a small table with two chairs “The nanny has taken the children to the stables, so you have a quiet morning ahead of you”

You reach out to pick your robe, your thoughts still filled with the encounter of the previous night. You want to ask Frances, but choose not to, not wishing to be taken as a madwoman. What would she say if you told her your dead husband had slept in your bed the previous night? So you play ignorance, and sit before the table, your stomach rumbling at the sight of buttered toast

“That’s good, but don’t let them out for too long. It ought to be quite muddy and damp outside from the storm, and I don’t want them getting sick”

Your fingers are curled around the steaming teacup when she speaks again.

“Storm? There was no storm, Mrs. Shelby. I was up quite late and the skies were clear, although it was a moonless night, so everything was quite dark”

The teacup stops midair, and a cold shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps covering your flesh. You had heard the wind, the rain, felt the rattling of the windowpanes and the water running down the pipes. Then, you notice a glint on your ring finger. A glint that was not there the night before.

You now wear two wedding bands. One the perfect size, one a few too big. And outside your window, the blackbirds begin to sing.

[rdng1230]

Any SalTommy headcanons?

Thanks for the ask I have literally So many! ok I’m putting these into categories. The first is happy fluffy fun, the second and third is something I’ll probably have to discuss in therapy next week 🙃. For reals, I almost deleted those last paragraphs because here this nice person has come to my ask box and my brain has decided to reciprocate with the most hurt no comfort shit it’s ever concocted. Ok happy stuff first!

Saltommy as besties:

they are attached at the hip and their two favorite activities are Muay Thai and action movie marathons. At some point they get overly into the Guy Ritchie British gangster type movies and Hen has to institute a “stupid British accent” jar for the two of them.

Tommy and Sal don’t hang out that often once they leave the 118. But Tommy is ride or die for Sal’s daughter. He’s the fun uncle that isn’t constantly there but when he is he does something insanely awesome like build her a treehouse or a bottle cannon or something.

The reason Gina dragged Sal to twilight was because she is bisexual and just as into Kristen Stewart as he is. When Tommy *finally* comes out it’s actually Sal that suggests Gina take Tommy to his first pride. Sal stays at home with his daughter so Tommy and Gina end up having a very fun and alcohol filled night a la the bachelor party that wasn’t. (goddammit I think I just gave myself another fic in the series to write.)

k well that’s enough happiness this is about to get insanely angsty for no fucking reason besides apparently that my brain wants me to suffer today. If your brain does not desire to feed the angst demon inside of you, for the love of god stop reading now. I will NOT be offended because I wrote the damn thing and I think I took it too far. Also it gets a lil NSFW from here.

Evil toxic fucked up Saltommy:

Tommy’s fucked up dad and then fucked up army superiors and then fucked up captain Gerrard taught tommy he was safer following the big tough guy. He knows Sal is bad for him, knows Sal doesn’t love him, but he figures being useful is good enough when he knows he won’t be wanted. He lets Sal take more than he should, usually discreet hand/blowjobs in the showers or broom closet (yeah the metaphor isn’t lost on him)

They have a horrible call where the one person they did manage to rescue suddenly codes in the ambulance. A version of Sal that Tommy’s never seen before shows up at Tommy’s house. It’s the only time Sal ever lets Tommy fuck him and after it’s over, Tommy holds him and runs his hand through Sal’s hair. They fall asleep together but when Tommy wakes up Sal is long gone. The following week Sal is absolutely vicious to everyone. He ends up getting hurt and Tommy patches him up. As Tommy sterilizes a wound just above his eye, Sal grabs his arm and stares at him. It’s an apology, and it’s also an ending. Tommy still follows Sal, always one pace behind, but they’re never intimate again.

Idk I guess doomed lovers Saltommy? Sal’s not as much of a monster but they’re still not healthy:

There’s always a heat to Tommy and Sal’s banter and Tommy genuinely wonders if someday Sal might tip them into something more. One of the 118 probies dies and Sal on some level believes it’s his fault. The night of the probies funeral Sal’s just numb and Tommy suggests Sal crash his couch. Tommy hates seeing Sal in pain like that and hovers in front of the bedroom door wondering if he should go to him. He’s shocked when Sal opens the door and suddenly they’re in Tommy’s bed. He’s surprised by how cuddly Sal is. (And if you’re like hey that sounds a bit like Booth & Brennan shhhhh you saw nothing)

after that they start sneaking around. At this point Gerrard is gone and they’re in the revolving door of captains stage. Tommy starts talking about potentially telling Hen and Chim, and Sal just knows deep in his gut that Tommy is the braver of the two of them, and Sal won’t be ready in the time Tommy needs him to be. Sal starts picking fights hoping Tommy will run off on his own. Eventually they do stop seeing each other romantically but Tommy’s still so *close* it’s driving Sal insane. He wants to run away with him and he wants to run away from him at the same time. When Bobby shows up and doesn’t know his ass from his elbow a lot of the time, Sal let’s all that anger and tension bubble up, on some level he knows he can’t bring himself to leave Tommy, so he pushes Bobby into sending him away by force.

After he moves to the 122 he buries himself in the work. He makes captain, even starts dating men, but still in the shadows. He hears through the grapevine that Tommy is dating the 118’s hotshot. He sees a photo of Tommy and Buck at the medal ceremony in the morning paper, looking so obviously head over heels for one another, and it’s the first and only sick day as a captain he ever takes.

[jjsmaybank20]

Watching You

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: your sons want to be just like you, so they copy your mannerisms as best they can.

Warnings: all fluffy family shit

Word Count: 1.4k

navigation  marvel masterlist

---

You had just picked Tommy up from school, McDonald’s Happy Meals in the car ready for him. Billy was home sick with Wanda, so you were in charge of picking Tommy up. You buckled him in and got back in the driver's seat, chatting idly about his day with him as you drove him home. 

You watched the 7-year-old scarf down his nuggets, knowing that he couldn’t have the toy till they were gone. You glance forward and a traffic light that had been green turned straight to red. You hit the brakes, making everything in the car pitch forward. You mumble curses under your breath, hoping that your son can’t hear you.

Tommy’s fries go flying towards the front, and his drink tips over into his lap. He looks down at his now soaking wet pants and says, “Shit!” You look at him, surprised and concerned, but he just grins right back at you. The light turns green again and you continue driving, still worried about where your son had learned that word.

“Hey, buddy. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” Tommy just smiles at you before saying, “I’ve been watching you, mama! I wanna be just like you. I’m gonna eat all my food, and grow as tall as you are. We both have Yankees baseball caps, and- and Lakers jerseys! We're just alike. I wanna do everything you do.” 

You tear up slightly as you pull into the driveway of your house. “Yeah, buddy. We’re just alike. Now run inside and go check on your brother.” He nods and runs towards the front door, leaving you standing by the car, thinking over your life choices.

Wanda comes out and sees you with a slightly pained expression on your face. “What's up, babe?” You shake your head and pull your wife into a hug. “It’s just… Tommy said he wants to be just like me in the car. He also said shit, which he apparently learned from me. I’ve done so many awful things in my life, and I don’t want him to turn out the same way I did. Please Wanda, help me help my stupid self.” 

She chuckles slightly, smiling up at you. “He said shit?” You groan and nod, looking up at the sky. “Yes! God, I need to stop cursing.” Wanda nods in agreement. Suddenly, your other son runs out the door and jumps into your arms. You let out a quiet ‘umph’, swinging him around as he giggles.

“Mama, mama! I feel so much better. Can we work on our project?” You hike him up in your arms, laughing at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course kiddo. Go grab the tools.” He drops from your hold and hits the ground running. You watch him take off before turning back to Wanda. She is looking at you with an indescribable look of love in her eyes. “You’re a wonderful influence on the boys, and the best mom and wife a woman could ask for. Now go build a treehouse with your son.”

You grin at her and you place a kiss on her lips before chasing after Billy. He had gone into the garage and brought out the toolbox that held all of the things you needed to put together the treehouse of his dreams. You make your way into the back yard, watching him get the drawing that he had made of what he wanted his fort to look like. You noticed that he had put on a baseball cap that you recognized, and as you came up behind him you asked, “Is that my hat?” 

You watch his eyes go wide and he practically rips it off and holds it out towards you, muttering apologies profusely. You watch him panic for a second before letting a smile spread across your face. You reach out and push the hat into his chest, saying, “Keep it. It suits you. Looks better on you anyway.” He frowns slightly, answering, “But I wanted to look like you.” You can’t help but think about how much he sounds like Tommy in the car, and you pull him into your arms.

“Have you and your brother been conspiring together again? Y’all are saying the same shi-,” Billy gives you a stern look, and you fix your language. “Stuff. Stuff. And yeah, we look exactly the same. Guess who you got your ruggedly handsome looks from?” Billy pretends to think about it for a second before answering, “Mommy.” You gasp in offense and Billy takes off running while you chase after him.

When you catch him, you tickle his sides until he relents and wheezes, “Okay, okay, fine, I got it from you, Mama!” You nod, feeling accomplished. “That’s what I thought. Now go clean up, your mom will come after me if you track dirt through the house.”

---

Later that night, you sat yourself down between the two boys beds and turned on their Scooby-Doo night light that they had insisted you buy for them. It took you a couple of tries to get them to settle down, but you eventually tucked them both in. Almost immediately after the covers went over him, Tommy hopped out of bed much to your annoyance. 

That annoyance quickly melted away as he shyly handed you a paper that he had just pulled from his backpack, murmuring, “I made this for you, Mama.” You glance down at it, not knowing what to expect. As you read further and further down the page, you couldn’t help the tears that formed in your eyes. Tommy looks at you worriedly, thinking that he had done something wrong to make you cry.

“It’s okay, Mama! Why are you sad?” You shake your head and wipe your eyes. “I’m not sad, buddy. These are happy tears. I love you both so much.” You glance at the paper, having to look at the sky so that you don’t start crying again. “God, you guys are both growing up so fast.” 

Tommy wraps his little arms around you, and they are quickly joined by Billy’s. “You know, Mama, even when we’re big we’ll still know what to do, cause you taught us.” Tommy nods enthusiastically, adding, “You taught us to eat all our food so that we can grow as tall as you are, and if we work hard we can be just like you. When we’re all grown up, we’ll be able to do everything that you do.”

You give them a watery smile before sighing and concluding, “You two are already so much stronger than I’ll ever be. Your mom and I are so proud of you, and we are so lucky to have you as our kids.” You look at them lovingly before sitting them down on their individual beds and pushing their heads towards the pillows by their faces.

They giggle at you and you place kisses on their foreheads before turning their light out and exiting the room. As you make your way downstairs, you think over what your sons had told you. You find your wife in the kitchen making the two of you dinner. 

You wrap your arms around her from behind, and almost instantly, she melts into them. You stick your face in her neck and place feather-light kisses on it. Wanda sighs shakily, trying to stay focused on the food so that it doesn’t burn. You pull away slightly, before randomly saying, “You know, both boys want to be like me. How much do you wanna bet Billy will turn out like you?” Wanda laughs, and the sound makes your heart flutter and creates a giddy feeling in your stomach. She turns around in your arms and wraps her arms around your neck. “I don’t doubt it. Tommy definitely shares your personality more.” You chuckle and lean in to press a kiss to her lips.

She chases after you when you pull away, and you almost let her suck you back in, but then you smell a burning scent. You look behind her, seeing the food is burnt to a crisp. You move quickly to turn off the burner, and Wanda looks at the stove apprehensively. 

You glance at her before asking, “Pizza?” She nods and smiles at you before going to order it. As you watch her go, it hits you that you finally have the family that you had always wanted, and you had it with a woman that you love more than anything in the world.

You couldn’t be more grateful for such a wonderful family, and you would love them until the day that you die.

—

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[tubzthelilbeeboy]

Explanation of my silly QSMP x DSMP crossover shit to explain some of the fanfic I'm writing haha

This takes place about 5 years after Ranboo's death, they had patched things over with Aimsey and the two of them work in Aimsey's little outdoors cafe near the treehouse. Tubbo hasn't left Snowchester in those last 5 years, isolating himself from everyone and anything other than Quackity and Tommy. After about one year after Ranboo's death, Pac and Fit show up with Ramon in Snowchester, asking Tubbo for a place to live. Over the years more ppl from QSMP flock to Snowchester to escape a war happening between the bunnies and the faceless bear workers. Soon basically the entire QSMP cast is living in Snowchester. Tubbo ends up finding Sunny and adopting her and yada yada that's what sets up the fic pretty much. Still a few holes to work out but its mainly gonna be beeduo and frubbo centric. Gotta have the love triangle hehe >:)

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“Y’know, when I was little, I had hair down to my ass.”

Billy digs down at the bottom of the bag, inspecting the orange dust that coats his knuckles before he crunches on another chip. He knows that Steve is doing his customary nod to show that he’s listening even though he can’t even see him.

Fingers gently rake through his roots, massaging at his scalp, and Billy lolls his head against one of Steve’s thighs. Scrapes down at the bottom of the bag with his dust-caked fingers and huffs when he comes up empty-handed.

“I bet it was untamable,” Steve says fondly. Chuckles as he watches Billy suck a cluster of orange away from the pad of one of his fingers. “I wish I could’ve met you when you were a kid. If you were anything like how you are now, I bet we would’ve been inseparable.”

“You would’ve gotten sick of me in about ten minutes.”

Steve tsks, but keeps toying with Billy’s hair where it spills into his lap. Starts gathering sections to fasten it into a braid for about the tenth time since they’ve been sitting here.

Ever since Robin showed him how a few nights ago, he’s been fixated on becoming a pro for whatever reason.

Probably so he can braid his daughter’s hair someday.

The thought makes Billy’s face flush with a familiar heat. It’s not the first time he’s thought about Steve’s — their future — like that. Their furniture together. It’s not even the first time today that he’s thought about it.

“I mean, I could tolerate Tommy, so I think we’d have been fine,” Steve says. “He was a crier. Could never take hits even when he was the first to start shit, and then he’d go tell, and I’d always get the ass-whooping.”

Steve shakes his head. Sighs to himself and tucks a stray curl behind Billy’s ear.

“Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly stoic,” Billy muses.

“You get what I mean, though. We would’ve had a fucking blast together as kids.” As soon as Steve finishes the braid, he unwinds it gently from the tail up. Combs his fingers through it thereafter and brushes one of his hands over Billy’s cheek. “What made you cut it?”

Billy tilts his head back, staring upside down at Steve while another hand comes to swipe his bangs away from his face. There’s an easy smile playing on the brunet’s lips.

“My old man took me to a barber shop a little bit before my fifth birthday.”

Steve’s smile falters.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” Billy’s eyes slip shut, and he focuses on the warm palms touching his skin. Careful enough to be handling porcelain. “Got in trouble, so he dragged me there and had it all buzzed off.”

“That’s… drastic. What did you do?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t remember?”

Billy huffs. He kind of wants to laugh, because everything his dad has ever done is hilarious when set in the past tense. The screaming, the veins popping out in his neck, the look on his face.

But then something else wells in his chest at the thought, and it isn’t funny.

“All I remember is crying my eyes out in that chair. Probably got into my mom’s lipstick or some shit, it didn’t take much to set him off.”

“He was probably just jealous of your pretty curls,” Steve says softly. It brings a small smile to Billy’s face. “Seriously though, I’m sorry he… I’m sorry you had to experience that. You don’t cut a kid’s hair as punishment.”

Near the end, his voice gets a bit stern, and Billy feels the sun simmering under his skin. Burning through his pores and shining light up into Steve’s face like rays of sunshine through parted clouds.

You’d make a good dad.

Billy wants more than anything to say it, but his lips form around something else when he parts them.

“We would’ve been fast friends if we met as kids,” he says.

“I don’t need another friend.” Steve’s face flushes with pink realization when Billy opens his eyes, and he quickly shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have needed— I had lots of friends, so I would’ve—” Steve cuts himself off with a sigh and pinches his eyes shut for a moment. “We would have held hands, y’know? Had sleepovers up in my treehouse, just the two of us.”

Billy can’t even begin to suppress the blossoming grin on his face.

“I never considered that little Stevie was a player too.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad we didn’t meet as kids. Neil would’ve just taken that from me too.”

The brunet sobers. Rubs his thumb over the apple of Billy’s cheek.

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do.” Billy turns his face towards his partner’s open hand, smiling as he presses a kiss to the soft skin of his palm. “Just like I know that in every universe, every hypothetical situation, Neil will be an asshole, I know that there’s no timeline where I don’t love you at first sight.”

Steve, ever the romantic, presses his lips together as a chapped red overtakes his cheeks. Billy sits up on his knees and turns around to lean into Steve’s lap at the first sign of tears.

He hugs his torso. Buries his face into Steve’s t-shirt and squeezes him when he sniffles.

“I’m glad we met when we did,” Billy adds. “When we both really needed it.”

Slender arms wrap around him, cradling him closer, and Steve’s chest echoes with a chuckle.

“When I needed another ass-kicking.”

“No— you know what I mean, you dork.”

“I do.” Steve strokes his hair, and Billy melts further into him. Feels, for a moment, like he’s five years old again and hugging his mother at the beach. “I’m just happy we met at all,” he says. “But I’m confident that it had to happen no matter what. Even if we were ninety and using walkers.”

Billy chuckles at that. Imagines, instead, the two of them growing old together. Here in this home that they’ve made for themselves, with their latest set of grandchildren running a muck.

He thinks he’d be willing to learn to like kids for that.

“As if either of us will make it to ninety,” he muses.

“Hey, shut up, we’re both living to a hundred and twenty because I said so.”

Steve tugs gently on his hair, prompting him to tilt his head back and look up. The brunet has the fondest look on his face, like he’s found spiritual enlightenment in Billy’s eyes.

Billy thinks he knows the feeling.

“Kay,” he says.

“It’s nice out right now.”

Fuck if either of them know if that’s true. All they know right now, all that exists in this moment, is each other.

“Mm, you wanna go for a walk?” Billy hums.

A huge smile blossoms over Steve’s face. He pushes his fingers through Billy’s hair one last time, cupping his cheek and letting the blond lean into his touch.

“Sure. I have to go change my shirt, though, because I’m pretty sure you got Dorito dust all over it.”

Billy snorts. Sure enough, when he raises his hand into view, his fingertips are still stained orange. Steve just smiles at him before they both get overwhelmed by giggles.

I’m glad I met you.

[hyperfixingfr]

@kndrules said I should talk about the Hoagie shutdown HCs for hours so that's my excuse for doing such (CW for S/H and some brief abuse & addiction mentions)

Hoagie is more quiet than his teammates. That's kind of something people don't notice because the way he's quiet is kind of different because of his neurodivergence. Yes, he talks. Yes, he socializes. But the way in which he does these things is very obviously a quiet kid. He lets other people lead conversations. He tends to follow the actions of others. He talks excessively if you let him, but the moment someone shows any form of rejection or disapproval of it, he stops talking. He stays behind everyone else, or at least behind the "leader" of the scene. And overall, his personality would cause some pretty obvious outcasting from groups in school. But these are some pretty boring aspects of canon and it's hardly ever thought about, so I'm gonna expand upon it.

Hoagie shuts down fast and he shuts down OFTEN. He's rejection sensitive. Now, he's not oblivious. If Wally says something like, "you're so stupid!" he takes it as a joke. The issue is if Wally used a tone that was *off* from his normal joke tones. Intentionally or not, a different tone in any way. Those words would start to ring in Hoagie's ears. He starts to overthink, and of course - shutdown. Anything he was saying prior to this, he'd slowly fade the conversation out and eventually stop talking or responding. He'd try to get himself to a secluded area as soon as he could, to prevent attention being drawn to him. He does a really good job with fading out from conversation because no one knows it's happening until he tells them. They just think he got bored and left.

Like I said, this happens often. Nigel scolding him, him getting bullied at school, Abby ignoring him to focus on work. The list goes on. He's too scared to express how these things make him feel, so he has a shutdown just about every day. His family further encourages this behavior by rewarding silence and scolding him for speaking. Tommy experiences the same stuff, but confidence boosts from Hoagie prevent Tommy from shutting down and staying silent when he's being mistreated. Hoagie never had anyone to stand up for him, though... At least, not after their dad died. He was the only one who tried to stand up for him.

He does a lot of hiding due to his environment at home. His shutdowns always result in him locking himself away and trying to get people to focus on someone else if they try to see what's up. He doesn't have any good coping mechanisms so, to try and "get it over with" he cuts (something he learned about on the early internet). After that, he'll go on to use an actual healthy coping skill like working on his projects or spending time with someone (once he finds his voice again). He feels a lot of guilt for it but because he hides his emotions, it takes a while for people to figure out what's going on and help him out.

In any situation causing distress and self confidence issues, Hoagie will shut down. It tends to happen with raised voices the most, though. If they're away from the treehouse on a mission somewhere and won't be going back for a while, he'll disappear wherever possible. He even becomes known for it, at least to Nigel. Unfortunately, Hoagie has a razor with a seal guard to protect the fabric in his pocket at all times, so he still engages with harmful mechanisms even when away from the treehouse. He put it there for that very reason, but it does double as a good tool if he's in trouble and caught in something... I guess

His shutdowns were a major part of his life from 10-13. They caused loneliness, a lack of help and support, and further fear. Not to mention the harm it caused to his arms because of how he decided to deal with it every time it happened.

On the bright side, Abby and Wally eventually realized things were going on. Wally wasn't much help in his teen years because he fell down the same hole of depression that Hoagie did especially during high school where he was forced to be misgendered, but he helped whenever sane enough to do so. It started off with Abby getting a bit concerned by his tendencies to slip off after Hoagie had mention he loves listening to conversations normally. She tried to be discrete when asking him things about the shutdowns, until they were on a mission away from the treehouse and Abby asked Hoagie if he had anything like scissors to cut something off an old file. She was handed the "infamous stained razor" and of course, freaked the fuck out on him. Not to scare him or anything, but it kind of did since she started asking a bunch of questions he didn't think he'd ever be asked as she paced around anxiously, hitting herself on the head and preventing him from even getting CLOSE to the razor he'd lended her. After that she started being more nosey about his shutdowns. She refused to let him suffer from them as much as he did because she knew he didn't have to. Over time, she managed to understand the signs of shutdowns. Wally did, too. If either of them are around when his shutdown starts, they immediately identify it and follow him off to wherever he ends up going. This soon turned to them actively being found by Hoagie during his shutdowns, and given a simple hand signal to let them know he shut down and needs to be watched over in a safe environment (since by this time at 13-14 he's suffering from genuine addiction to harm, and needs supervision when at risk). They tend to haul him off to a nice, cozy place in the treehouse. There, they'll do whatever Hoagie pleases. He doesn't speak, but he'll make it clear what he wants to do. He'll drop playing cards in front of them, he'll turn on the TV and cling to their sides, sometimes he'll just fall asleep or cuddle up in their arms. His shutdowns became far less stressful and dangerous after Abby and Wally found ways for him to shut down and then unwind in a safe environment. In late teen years Wally became incapable and even unsafe to be around at certain points due to doing the exact same harmful things Hoagie did at that time but Abby still helped keep him safe whenever possible and, in rare instances Wally would be able to when he wasn't unsafe. Abby also did searches of both of Hoagie's rooms (with his permission) every month to cleanse the area of harmful stuff so he couldn't hurt himself even if he didn't properly identify a shutdown and seek help for it. She came out of there with a looot of different things she didn't even know could be used. She disposed of them in secret locations and soon enough she wasn't finding anything in his rooms, which meant his shutdowns were either being had with his trusted partners, or he was capable of having a shutdown all alone without harm being caused. That part kind of goes beyond that point and he does have (even worse) problems still but that doesn't really correlate with his shutdowns so that's for anyone who's interested in his problems with addictions which I'll talk about if people are interested

[creepedverse]

Oi, what's the gang’s retrospective theme songs?? -🟦

Dia: Ruthlessness by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

Tobin: Teenagers by MCR 🔥

Joy: “Fall Away” by Twenty One Pilots

Shannon: Hey Bunny by Baby Bugs

Tali: Sex Metal Barbie by In This Moment or Brand New City by Mitski

scout: philadelphia ii by cbmc orr treehouse cover by kelseydog

bonnie: growing/dying by the backseat lovers

tommie: malmo by mook

Nico: either carmen by lana del rey, michelle by sir chloe, or brand new city by mitski . she has a lot!

[topazy]

Inside, outside

Pairings: 10k x reader, Addy Carver x sister reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, mentions of vomit

Chapter: 4.09

The moment the cellar doors slam shut, you rip the damp bandana from your mouth, letting clean air into your lungs. Your pit stop to look for supplies took a turn when a toxic gas that turned into foam appeared out of nowhere, forcing everyone to take cover. Warren and Sarge split off while the rest of you headed towards a shop that appeared to be open, but when a couple of Z’s appeared, you and 10k managed to lure them away and mercy them before taking shelter elsewhere.

“I think we are below a bar,” 10k says, his eyes observing the barrels of booze. He turns and looks at you in surprise as you start to pull your clothes off. His jaw tightened as you shimmered out of your soaking wet jeans. “What are you doing?”

“Stripping.” You laugh at the blush on his face. “I have clean clothes in my bag.”

You open your backpack and pull out a plastic bag, throwing the clothes you’d just been wearing inside. The dampness from the fog didn’t bother you, but being covered in zombie guts did. When you turn back around, you find 10k standing with his face inches from yours and his body bare aside from his boxers. He has a mischievous look on his face as he tucks strands of hair behind your ear.

“Tommy…”

He smiles and says, “We could be down here for some time.”

“Or not…So we better be quick,” you giggle.

He crashes his lips against yours, hooking his hands behind your thighs and lifting you up. Your legs wrap around his waist as you deepen the kiss. 10k pulls back; his eyes move around the darkened room until they land on a sleeping bag in the corner of the room. He walks over to it and places you back on your feet.

Clumsily, he pulls off his boxers before kneeling to the ground and kissing your stomach, his finger tracing the scar on your thigh. Both of your bodies were covered in scars, but the only one that you cared about was 10k’s bite mark. It was a constant reminder that he died.

“Hey!” Feeling a nip on your thigh you look down to see 10k grinning up at you, “Did you just—”

You stop talking when he places a kiss over your most sensitive area before hooking his fingers into the side of your pants. When your underwear hits your ankles, you kick it to one side before gently pushing 10k onto his back. You unclasp your bra while straddling him and say, “I’ve missed this.”

He locks eyes with you briefly before sucking at the skin along your collarbone and chest, leaving bruise-like marks. You didn’t necessarily just miss being able to have sex with your fiancé; you missed being able to spend any time alone with him more than anything. You regretted taking the days you lived in the treehouse in the forest for granted.

10k lets out a moan of pleasure as you sink onto him, his lips finding yours quick. Finding a rhythm was easy in that position; his hand comes forward and slips between your legs, causing you to let out your own moan of pleasure. It’s not long until you’re both chasing release, letting out a groan as you reach your high.

You collapse forward, your hands landing on either side of 10k’s head, both of you panting and sweating. He kisses you on the forehead and says, “I missed it too.”

—

You jolt up when you hear a banging noise close by. “Shit,” you hiss while scrambling for your clothes. “Z’s or other survivors?”

10k gives you a worried look while pulling his boxers back on. When the banging grows louder, he picks up his gun and aims it at the cellar door.

“Warren?”

Recognizing the voice, you quickly climb up the ladder. “Sarge, it’s Astra, don’t shoot!” You yell before unlocking it, and you hold it open for her to come in. It worries you that she’s alone, “what happened?”

“The foam became so thick it was hard to see, and I lost sight of Warren.”

“Warren’s tough; I’m sure she’ll be okay,” 10k says, lowering his gun.

Sarge looks between the two of you and scrunches up her nose when she takes in the sight of you both in nothing but underwear. “Seriously?”

You try your best to hold back a laugh. “How-oh-shit,” you point at the foam starting to leak through the door. “It looks like we need to move fast.”

—

You, 10k, and Sarge manage to make it to a barber shop, where Doc and Murphy are currently taking shelter with four other men, including Sketchy and Skeezy. It amazed you that they had survived so long. Unfortunately, the two other men were in the middle of robbing the barbers when you arrived, but the three of you didn’t notice until it was too late. The foam was becoming thicker and more toxic; 10k had inhaled some of it, which was causing him to vomit. You quickly pass him a bucket and look the other way; you only turn back around when you hear the cock of a gun.

“This is still a robbery!” A short, bald man says, pointing the gun in Doc’s direction, but Sarge charges him, causing a fight to break out. During the commotion, you stand with your back to the wall beside Murphy in the back room to try and avoid the bullets being fired. The fighting only stops when a naked, deformed-looking Z runs into the room and knocks Sketchy and Skeezy to the ground. A very tall, bulky man named Tiny stamped on Z's head, crushing its skull.

“Oh shit man!” Skeezy says he's panicked and pulls the back of his collar down. “She bit me! She bit me!”

—

Tiny and his bald companion, whose name kept changing between Sal and Tony, pulled their guns out, and you and 10k slowly started to back away before another fight broke out. Doc was trying his best to calm the situation while Sarge chimed occasionally, supporting the bald man’s plan of cutting off Skeezy and Sketchy’s arms and legs.

If it wasn’t for 10k protectively pushing you behind him, you would have suspected the whole thing was a hallucination.

“Stop! We're going to do this the old-fashioned way,” Murphy says, stepping into the middle of the room. “It sucks, but fate has chosen to screw you. We play by one rule. Survival of the fittest We toss him out in his ass, and let Darwin do the rest.”

Sketchy looks at him appalled, and let’s put in a loud gasp. “Murphy, how could you? We're talking about Skeezy here.”

Murphy turns to look at you and says, “Astra, out of the two of them, which one did we almost kill?”

You didn’t need any time to think before answering; you still got chills thinking about that day. “I headbutted Skeezy, then you hit him on the head with a brick.”

Sarge gives you a shocked look and asks, “Why?”

“He was being a creep.”

After some debating, it was decided that it would come to a vote on whether Skeezy could stay inside or be forced out into the toxic foam. Before the final vote could be cast, two men entered the bar, both of them projectile vomiting. They seemed odd; both of them were talking in fake English accents and were wearing sombreros.

When they stopped throwing up, the two men came in and immediately grabbed Skeezy and started to push him out of the door. It was obvious you’d missed a lot before arriving. “Wait! Wait!” Sketchy smiles at Skeezy and then gives him a very passionate kiss. “I just had to, before you go.”

Skeezy smiles at him and says, “I love you.”

“I know.”

You raise your brow at them for quoting Star Wars. You were starting to wonder if you’d be better off taking your chances with the Zs at this rate. The men toss Skeezy out, and he screams violently as he dies... of something.

When the screams stop, one of the new robbers pulls out his gun and demands everyone strip. Sarge eyes you suspiciously, noticing the fresh hickies on your body and lets out a snort, “Twice in one day? Lucky me.”

Murphy shakes his head and tuts, “You two are like feral rabbits.”

You roll your eyes at his tone of disgust and return your attention to the two men holding you hostage. Neither of them seemed to have planned this far ahead and were trying to figure out a plan.

Sketchy starts to beg them not to take him to the basement, making them take you down towards it. You notice the nervous look on Doc’s face as he asks, “What’s in the basement?”

He mouths ‘Z's.’ Oh shit. The doors to the basement open seconds later, and Zs pour from them. You retreat back up the staircase as the dead devour the new set of robbers. Tiny and Tony/Sal shoot the Z's, then return to holding you all hostage.

When the door to the shop begins to rattle, Sketchy motions for you to step back from it. Seconds later, a sharp pole lands in the chests of the men holding you hostage, killing them, and Skeezy walks back into the barbershop.

You look between Sketchy and Skeezy and say, “Was this whole thing planned?”

The two slightly unhinged men explained the whole thing was a set up so they could take over the barbershop. You stare at them dumbfounded and say, “We need to find Warren.”

—

When morning comes, you find Warren standing on a bridge, looking slightly confused. She doesn’t say much, but you follow in the direction of Route sixty six.